Ghosts of Old
by onlyonceinforever
Summary: Tom Sawyer ponders death and why he is undeserving of such a release. :ONESHOT:


**Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I don't own LXG or anything else. Although, if it was up to me, every single person in the whole freaking world would have seen the movie by now and would then not have to suffer my insatiable wrath upon receiving a message in my inbox saying that they're not going to review because they don't know what it's about. So there.**

**Ok, so I have officially determined that every single piece of angst that I write all sound the same. Seriously, go read any of the songfics, and you will see these glaring similarities. So, as I sat down to the computer to write (after numerous hours spent online reading fanfiction, as it were), I told myself that I would not, repeat WOULD NOT be writing angst. **

**Guess what.**

**I wrote generic angst. Again.**

**Enjoy.**

**Ghosts of Old**

American Special Service Agent Thomas Sawyer leaned over the edge of the railing to the Nautilus, the ocean spray showering his youthful face with salt water. He closed his clear green eyes and allowed the water to wash over him, seasoning his already tousled dirty blonde hair even further.

He sighed as he opened his eyes once again, watching the waves move by, the ship cutting cleanly through the water as if it was glass. It was beautiful, really, as the water sliced, leaving chance for more to rush in to fill its spot. _Sort of like human nature_, Tom pondered. _Once one person is out of the way, it's only a matter of time before someone else comes in and tries to claim their space. _

A sudden wave of understanding and guilt hit the youth as he came to a realization. _That's just what I've done. It's what I did to Huck, and it's what I did to Quartermain. They should have lived and moved on to greatness, they should have had the opportunities that I have. But they don't. They don't, and they never will. Because they're dead. They're both dead... because of me._

Salty tears burned at the young agents eyes as he recalled the circumstances under which his two friends had perished. _Huck should have been the one who fought on and met the League, not me. He deserved it more, and what did it get him? Dead. That's what. _

_And then there's Quartermain. He died so that I could live. He sacrificed himself to save me. He didn't have to, but he did. And now I have to live with the burden of their deaths on my conscious. _

Tom shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the shameful thoughts.

_What the hell am I thinking? It's not their fault that I have to live with this, it's my own fault, and nobody else's. How could I be so stupid as to think that they could possibly take any blame for what happened to them? It's not their fault. It's mine. All mine._

_It's all my fault, and they're the ones that have to pay for my mistakes. If only I had seen the Fantom sooner, if only I had been just a little better trained, they wouldn't have died. They would still be here, and they would be the ones living the life I don't deserve._

_They never did anything that could possibly constitute as wrong, or sinful. They certainly were never the stupid idiot child that I was. And am. I still am that stupid little child, no matter how hard I try to refute it. There will always be a part of me that will refuse to grow up, probably the part that still refuses to believe that Huck and Quartermain are really gone. _

_Funny, you would think that that little shred of innocence would have died years ago, back when I joined the Service. But no, it will always be there, a constant reminder of everything I have lost - my friends, my family, everything that really mattered to me, gone. All gone. Just like them._

_It never gets any better, does it? Everybody tells me that the pain will ease with time, but enough time has passed to prove them wrong. I still feel that pain, just like they died yesterday, and I don't think I will ever heal. _

_So why bear this pain? Why not end it all now, end the pain, and the suffering. It would be so easy, too. The only people who would miss me are the ones who don't know me. The rest of the League doesn't know me well enough to care if I live or die, as long as I don't endanger them in the process. I think I could do it. _

_But what would they think? What would Huck and Quartermain think if they knew I was considering this, knowing that they were the ones that drove me to this end? _

_There I go again. Blaming them for what is very obviously my fault. I've got to stop doing that. Permanently. _

_But what would they think? They would be pissed, probably, to know that I was throwing my life away, that their sacrifices were made in vain, just to save some worthless moron who doesn't know any better._

_But I do know better. That's the thing. I know that to claim a life is wrong, but how many people have I killed just because I was ordered to? Too many to count. My hands are stained with blood, and it's not just the blood of the enemy. It's innocent blood. Does my blood deserve to mingle with the blood of the innocent?_

_No. I am anything but innocent. I have killed for reason other than necessity. Rarely was my life really in danger when I pulled the trigger, never did the enemy fire first. I can't even say it was in self defense. I shot first, and that makes me a murderer. _

_Can they ever forgive me? I don't think I can forgive myself. So why should they, the people who died so that I could live on to fight another day, offer me repentance when I don't feel I deserve it myself? They shouldn't. _

_God, how easy would it be to jump right now, to end it all? It would be so simple, just plunge into the water and let it consume me, take me in and drive the breath from my lungs, along with it the life from my body. _

_But that would be the easy way out, wouldn't it? If I did it now, who would remember the people who died, the people I killed? They deserve more than a dead memory in the mind of a dead coward. _

_No, I can not jump. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't deserve to. I don't deserve to die, not when those who deserved to life sought death when it was rightfully mine. No, jumping would be an insult to their memory._

_This my my burden to bear, and bear it I will. _

_Until my dying day._

**Fin.**


End file.
